


Hearing Blue

by gerty_3000



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8640034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerty_3000/pseuds/gerty_3000
Summary: I can't believe Beard is fucking dead





	

**Author's Note:**

> I rly like the idea of jacket's hallucinations of beard being like... kind of self aware... also dying.
> 
> As usual Rouven is my hc name for beard so yeah.

When the man walked into his shop, Rouven’s first instinct was to smile and call out a kind greeting. Business was slow-going, as usual, during the day while everyone was at work, so any chance to take his mind off of the boredom presented by standing around all afternoon and watching movies was a chance well-received. However, his next instinct, upon actually seeing the man, was to frown, and keep his mouth shut, eyes averted and glued to the TV, as if he never looked up. There was something very wrong about the bald-headed person who had walked in, who walked like he was hiding something, face set impassively in a stern scowl and hands shoved in the pockets of his viridian windbreaker. Rouven shifted awkwardly where he stood, feeling very uncomfortable as he glanced at the clock on the wall adjacent, suddenly filled with dread and a want for his shift to be over. This wasn’t right.

The feeling pervaded as the stranger walked straight to the desk he stood behind, pulling his hands out and resting them on the counter. A silence hung in the air as Rouven cast his eyes nervously to the taller stranger, and he cleared his throat, offering a small smile, hoping his anxiety didn’t show. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end, and his skin was crawling. There was something seriously wrong with the situation, and dimly, Rouven felt as if he should have been making a mad dash for the door. He didn’t understand why, and for once, didn’t want to. 

“What can I do for you, today?” He said, regardless of his apprehension, and was pleased to find that his voice didn’t waver. However, his smile waned just slightly as the man before him didn’t respond, simply stared across the counter, fingers taping in a soft rhythm. A terror seemed to well inside Rouven’s throat and just as he felt that, maybe, perhaps, he should act on it, and stepped backwards, the man before him lashed out. The blue gloved hand formed a fist and slammed hard into his nose, crushing his glasses hard against his face, sending him reeling backwards and landing hard on his back, wind knocked out of him. He gasped for air, hands scrambling along the ground to try and get to his feet, and as he rolled onto his side he splattered bright red blood all over the shiny linoleum floor, smearing it with his shaking fingers briefly in surprise before he managed to push himself up into half a running position. He was still disoriented, though, and Richter had taken his time in making his way over to the panicking man. 

Without much ceremony, he sat down on top of his arched back, folding his knees and putting the entirety of his weight on Rouven, forcing him to collapse once again with a gurgling sound. His hands reached out with desperation m, but couldn't do much when he was pinned face-down to the floor with such a weight on his back.

"Look, man... this... this isn't personal." The voice above him rang out, low and soft and not at all seeming like it actually belonged to Richter.

"I don't- I don't know what you- you want! Just tell me! I'll get it for you- please- I don't- I don't! I don't want to d-!"

The man's pleading was cut off by a solid thwack of the claw end of a hammer sinking into the back of his skull at full force. There was a spurt of blood like a geyser, and Richter made quick work of striking the same spot the hole until it was gaping wide, the skull yawning to reveal mutilated brain that was dug out with desperate hits from the hammer, clumps of wet orange hair coming out with it. Rouven was groaning low in his throat, a steady pained noise that slowly tapered off into short wheezes, then nothing. 

Richter stared down at his handiwork, panting from exertion and covered in spatter, grimacing as he pulled a few wayward strands of blood-soaked hair from his wrists.

"Fuck."

No use bothering trying to clean that mess up, but he at least tried to wipe his hands when he heard the door to the convenience store ring, and a blonde-haired man slowly walked in.


End file.
